For soodohnimh
by Solia
Summary: A 'missing scene' from the larger, AU fic Break Me Every Time. Dexter's dream in chapter 44 escalates. Warnings: Dark content, semi-explicit sexual content, coarse language typical of the show. Break Me canon. Dexter/Debra/Brian.


Title: For soodohnimh

Fandom: Dexter

Rating: M for language and explicit and sexual content. Arguably contains incest and violence, though both are debatable.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Dexter_ or any of its characters. I only borrow them, toss them around a little, and throw them back into the fandom relatively unharmed for others to play with.

Author's notes: This requested fic is written in thanks for my good friend **soodohnimh** for the immeasurable support and generosity she has shown me and my original works. I would barely be off the ground without the immense part she has played in my novel's international presence. She offered her arm or firstborn in exchange for a continuation of the sensual dream sequence in Chapter 44 of _Break Me Every Time_, and despite never having written anything quite like this I felt obliged to at least try, and this is the result. This is the 'missing M/M/F threesome' from the original fic, which I strongly suggest reading before embarking on this one if you like a context, and is written to fit into _Break Me_ canon. Thank you again, **soohdohnimh** – I really hope you enjoy this.

I listened to Evanescence, Seether and t.A.T.u. while writing to get that dark, heavy feeling, but no one song stood out as speaking wholly for this fic.

Next on my list is a request from my lovely reader **the harsh realm**. Watch this space.

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It's a dream and I know it but it feels simultaneously vivid and surreal. I'm on the floor of the container Harry Morgan once found me in, sitting against the cold metal wall with my brother at my side, holding my hand. He's the little dark-haired boy Harry left behind, and I'm the golden-haired boy Harry decided to save, but in this version we're not all alone. Dozens and dozens of dead bodies litter the floor, and the shipping container, made huge by the dimensions of my dreamscape, is almost a swimming pool of the blood of all my victims. And on my lap is chatty, warm, babbling baby Debra.

"You shouldn't be here," I murmur sadly to the baby, who only blinks in response. "You should be somewhere safe."

"Only she's not," Brian comments patiently. He's suddenly not the little boy any longer. The dream has morphed him into the adult he grew to be, the one who seduced my sister and committed the Ice Truck murders with the main purpose of attracting my attention. "She's exactly where you are." He grins playfully, knowing what he's about to say will piss me off. "Maybe she _wants_ to be here."

"She doesn't."

"Maybe she _deserves_ it, then."

"Fuck you."

"We're all fucked," Deb agrees, and sure enough, she's not baby Debra anymore either. She and I are both in our adult forms and she's curled in my arms, naked except for the plastic wrap binding her like a bodysuit, and bleeding profusely from the injuries Hannah and Vogel dealt her. Concerned, I reach out a hand to wipe away the trickle of blood that runs down the side of her face. She affectionately lays a hand over mine and weaves her fingers into the gaps between mine. Brian, though, ignores the injuries completely as he shuffles closer, one hand still holding mine tightly. He leans over me to grasp Deb's face in his free hand. We three are all so close, so connected, as Brian kisses her deeply.

It's beyond fucked up to be sitting in a bloodbath while my siblings make out on my lap but in a dream unbelievable things feel less ridiculous, and unbelievable things that should elicit an extreme reaction might not. I feel jealousy but also a dark kind of intrigue, so do not interfere. Deb closes her eyes and seems to relinquish herself to the kiss, but her hand stays on mine and she leans into my touch when I stroke her cheek, her hair, her ear. She continues to bleed. There's a blackly sexual element to watching her slowly die, ignoring her own demise as her passionate encounter with my brother escalates, his hands hungrily pulling her in, myself so close that I could join in with them at any moment if I wanted. I get the distinct impression I'd be welcomed, mostly from the fact that both still hold one of my hands. They want each other but neither is willing to let go of me.

I'm enjoying watching my darkness seduce and distract my sister from her death until I notice her eyes flutter subtly and her gaze on me. She doesn't mind dying. She doesn't even notice. She's more than willing to follow Brian until her heart stops. But it's _me_ she's looking at; _me_ she'd rather.

She'll let me kill her if I want to, but she'll also let me save her if I want that more.

I release my brother's hand and prise the pair apart, pushing him aside gently and pulling her to me instead. Her kiss moves from him to me with barely a beat missed, lips soft and still firm on mine, and it doesn't matter that this would be way too creepy to ever have gone down in life, it feels right. Brian pulls away obligingly and Deb's hands on me elicit feelings of warmth and desire, because to hold her and have her with me is all I want, and our mouths move together as rhythmically and as knowledgeably as they have when we've kissed before. She's perfect for me. Made for me.

Brian's hand runs up my arm, leaving a trail of heat and goosebumps. I'm lost in the act of kissing Deb – her mouth on mine, her blood between my fingers, her hair trailing over my shoulder, her body heat under the plastic pressed against my bare chest – but Brian is hard to ignore, especially as his fingertips ghost over my collarbone and up my neck. He finds my earlobe and fidgets with it between his fingers and I feel a shiver move through me in reaction to the sensitivity.

Deb bites my lower lip and I open my eyes, not having realised I'd closed them, to look straight into hers. Bringing me back to her, demanding my attention. She's beautiful, breathtaking; my sister, yes, and she always will be, but this is not real. This is something more than real, a dream of fucked-up symbolic representation so deep I could drown in the explanations alone, except I'd rather drown in _her_. I reach both hands for her waist to pull her tightly against me as I crush her lips with mine. The plastic between us is sticky with blood and the beginnings of our sweat and I claw it away with sightless hands, too focused on being as close to her as I can get to stop to remove the plastic wrap efficiently.

A new shiver rocks me as the sensation on my ear turns hot and wet. Brian has my earlobe between his teeth and I feel his tongue lace across my skin. I rip away from both he and Deb, taken by surprise and needing to sit back to see them both. They regard me with identical calm hazel gazes. I touch my ear. I hadn't expected Brian to put his mouth on me, but even more, I hadn't anticipated my own reaction.

"Don't pretend you don't want us both," Brian whispers huskily, more seductively than is fair, continuing to unravel Deb's plastic bindings with one hand while running the other up her back, up her neck, into her hair. She leans forward to meet me in a new kiss, and I lean in eagerly, keen to continue exploring her. In the instant before our lips touch, Brian tightens his fingers and wrenches back on her hair. She slips off my lap into the blood and my brother catches her around the middle to keep her upper half off the floor. She goes back without protest and he bends at the waist to kiss her deeply. It's darkly romantic, their pose, the romance offset by the callous intentions of one and the bloody condition of the other.

I want to be part of it. I push off the wall and get onto my knees so I can crawl closer, drawn to the dark sides of my two passionate siblings and desperate to be as much like them and as close to them as I can be. But as much as Brian is right, and I want them both, there is one I always choose over the other. I lay a hand on Brian's bare shoulder to pull him gently away and he sits up smoothly to look at me. I stare into his face, wishing I'd had more opportunity to do so in life. Do we look alike? Do we have our grandfather's chin, our mother's eyes, our uncle's cheekbones? What do we share? I'll never know. I know this a dream so I don't deny myself the desire to reach out and touch my brother's face. He lets me. He feels real, solid, smooth and warm. Alive. I wish I'd been allowed to leave him this way.

Deb's hand snakes up my arm and I look back down to her. Brian holds her for me while I let her hand pull me down to her kiss by the back of my neck. Her body's dying but her kiss is not. Her tongue strokes mine and her breaths come quicker and hastier as our lips move across each other.

Brian kisses my neck, and I mean to wrench away, but Deb's hand holds me firm and the pressure of her kiss does not falter. I feel her tongue in my mouth and his on my neck, running in circles, and when I look into Deb's eyes I see that both of my siblings are aware of the other. Neither minds sharing me. Neither resents the pleasure I gain from indulging in both; in fact, I gather as Deb directs my hand to the plastic around her chest and Brian runs his hands over my shoulder and back, they see the efficiency in building on the enjoyment provided by the other. Deb will have me any which way, preferably clean and good but under influence of evil if that's all that's on offer, and Brian recognises that Deb, though good in my eyes, is an easy slippery slope of gratification into guilt, remorse and denial, and he encourages me to the edge of that slope.

They are more like each other than I've ever seen before now. I tear at Deb's plastic, spurred by this thought, desperate to feel as much of her skin against me as I feel of Brian's chest against my back as he drops Deb into my one-armed hold, and moves his mouth along my shoulder and down to my opposite arm. The closeness of the both of them is intoxicating; their combined desire for me is unbelievably hot.

"Get this fucking shit off me," Deb murmurs into my mouth, holding herself up off the bloody floor with one arm hooked around my neck and helping me with the plastic with her other. I urgently yank and unwrap but I'm distracted by Brian's attentions, which are in no way unwelcome by this point. His hands and mouth move across my skin with more care and tenderness than he's so far shown my sister. He moves slowly; he doesn't jump ahead, and I'm grateful, because I don't know how I'd react, but he keeps me dizzy with uncertainty as to what he'll do. Deb's mouth on mine is instinctive, and I feel like I know what she's going to do because it's what I _want_ her to do. It's magic; it's fucking amazing. Brian's moves are unpredictable in comparison. I don't know him like I know Debra. I don't know what to expect from him.

Brian pulls away and helps with the final layer of plastic, and it's like Christmas morning, unwrapping a present with my big brother, only the present is my bleeding little sister. Brian takes her weight for me as I get the last of the wrap and pull it away. I turn to thrust the big bloody bundle away from us, urgent to throw myself back into the pleasure of them both as quickly as I can, and my brother drops Deb, now as naked as my brother or I, into the blood. I wouldn't have dropped her, but I don't say anything. We both look down at her. Do we look like twin predators to her, staring down from above? She's glorious, perfect, even in spite of the bullet wound in her head and the gash in her upper stomach and the blood trails that ooze from each. The stomach wound should be gut-wrenchingly upsetting, and on some level it is, but the tight binding of the plastic has stemmed the bleeding significantly. For now.

Deb slides her foot closer, raising her knee and showing off her incredible legs, and I reach out to touch the skin of her calf, because it's a dream and I can. She curls toward me, enjoying my touch, encouraging more from me. Spurred, I trail my fingers up to her knee, and when her only reaction is to hold my gaze with smouldering eyes, I spread my fingers so that my whole hand is sliding slowly over her knee and the front of her thigh. I feel my own pulse quicken at the way she inhales deeply through her nose in response to my touch. In response to _me_.

On her other side, Brian lays a hand on her other knee and pulls it toward him, tipping her hips away from me so she's lying flat again. He doesn't take things slow with her like he does with me. He's pushy with her the way she's pushy with me. He slides his hand up the inside of her thigh as he sits up on his knees to climb on top of her, and it's in a sudden flash of possessiveness that I grab his bicep and prevent his hand from quite reaching its destination.

He's had her before; I never have. It's _my_ dream, and if anything in this world, real or imagined, is arguably _mine_, it's Deb. Clearly this a sexual dream and I don't particularly mind Brian having sex with Deb, but if we are both to, I'm going to be first.

He freezes when I grab him and he stays there, poised over Deb's right knee, even when I let him go. He waits to see what I'll do, and though my plan was to ravish Debra, I know she'll wait for me because she always does, and I feel his magnetism, the same magnetism I felt to him in life, when I wanted to know him, wanted to connect with him. He swallows and I want to know what the hollow at the base of his throat tastes like. Experimentally, hesitantly, I lean over Deb to touch my lips to my brother's neck. He doesn't move, not wanting to scare me. He tastes like the sea, though I never dropped him there so I don't know why. I trace my tongue over his pumping artery, feeling his pulse, remembering that this is the one I severed to kill him. I've not been with men before and it's not the male form I feel sexually attracted to, but his body appeals to me in some dark, twisted way because of its likeness to _my_ body. If my genes had been arranged only slightly differently I might look exactly like Brian. He's my brother, my blood. We are the same.

"F-Fuck," I stammer, breaking away from Brian when I feel Deb's hand on my thigh and then _elsewhere_ where it's never been before. _That _was unexpected. Waves of pleasure and tension run through me, radiating from the front of my pelvis. They double-team me, my siblings – Brian grabs my face with both hands and kisses me full on the mouth, while Deb's hands work me expertly, back and forth, slow and then fast.

Good thing this is dream, because I'm certain it's almost every kind of wrong there is. And I love it.

Brian's hand slips to my neck and squeezes, just enough to make the difference to my air flow noticeable, and his mouth moves to my jawline, and then back to my neck. Deb's hand speeds up and Brian's teeth sink into my skin, and I can't hold in the moan that escapes me. The edges of my vision blur with lack of oxygen and my head is light with the ecstasy of their combined attentions.

I feel the animalistic need to move the foreplay to the real thing and, without bothering to prise myself out of Brian's grasp, I lower myself hurriedly over Deb. My legs and hers get caught together as I try to crawl between them, and my hand slips on the shipping container's bloody floor as I get into position.

"Stop fucking around, Dexter," she snarls breathlessly, hooking one leg behind my ass and pulling me over her. My knees slide out and my hips drop, and I feel myself touch her very entrance, where I wait, suddenly terrified.

This is my sister. She's dying, and I'm about to fuck her.

I look to my left. This is my brother. I killed him, and I'm letting him – _enjoying him_ – kiss my neck and run warm hands over my chest and shoulders.

If we don't take the cake for Most Fucked-Up Family, I don't know how in hell you qualify.

"The damage is already done," Brian murmurs into my ear, and I find my eyes brushing over Deb's injuries. I shift my weight onto one hand so I can press the other over her abdomen, which is bleeding more steadily now that she's moved around a bit and disturbed the wound. I wouldn't do this in reality because my hand is already dripping with the blood of dozens of other people and I'm running an unreasonable risk of contamination, but likewise, in life, sex with Deb would not be the first idea to come to mind when seeing her naked and bleeding, yet I'm poised ready to do so. Her heels on the back of my thighs strain against my locked hips; she wants me inside her. Brian's teeth pull my earlobe inside his mouth and he asks, softly, "You can't possibly make things any worse, so why not enjoy her while you can? You won't get this chance again."

He leaves unsaid the fact that Deb will be dead soon. He doesn't mind that I want her more than him. In some sick way, it's probably the _him_ in her that I'm drawn to.

"The motherfuck are you waiting for?" Deb demands of me, still trying to pull me in with her legs and now trying to push my one arm out from under me. I have to tense my arm and shoulder to fight her shoves. I feel like my whole body is tense with fighting her.

I hate that I need to fight against her, because more than almost anything, I want to give in to her.

"I don't want to hurt you," I admit to the only thing I want more than to give her what she wants – to not hurt her, to never hurt her again. To just love her properly the way she deserves. I watch blood run down the side of her face into her hair from the bullet hole that should have her unconscious; I feel the blood seep thickly from the gash in her stomach that should have her barely mobile. It's hopeless, and I feel a hole of black misery deep inside me swallowing the pleasure of the moment. Her wounds are my fault. I have no right to enjoy her.

Deb stops pushing on my arm and instead slides her hand up it to my bicep, my shoulder, my neck, where it stays. "You wouldn't ever hurt me." And she pulls herself up enough that she can kiss me delicately on my lips. It's the softest and sweetest moment in the dream so far. She murmurs against my mouth, "I'm not scared of you, Dexter. Don't be afraid of me."

But she can't see, she can't understand. It's not _her_ I'm afraid of, it's Brian, it's _this_, this opportunity to make an epic fucking mistake with her that I can never take back and which she can't live to regret. It doesn't matter that it's a dream; the _wanting_ is real and the _wrongness_ is real, and like in the last dream where I went ahead and did her anyway I know that the closer I let myself pull Deb the worse her fate will be.

And Brian's here, and even though we're both enjoying him, too, his presence in my dreams never spells good news for Deb, or for me by extension. He's temptation for us both, a pure and simple symbol, and he's here to lead us astray, and we're only too willing to follow.

"I could get you out of here instead," I suggest wildly, though I know it's not possible. "I could try to save you. Get you to a doctor."

"Door's locked," Brian comments quietly behind my neck.

"I'm as trapped here as you are," Deb reminds me. She looks me straight in the eyes, her gaze hard. "Fuck me or get the fuck off of me and let me die, Dex. Make a fucking decision."

It's as much a choice as _kiss me or kill me_, and I make myself relax all over. Deb's legs pull me in and I suppress a soft groan of pleasure at the sensation of sinking inside her. I shouldn't enjoy it, it shouldn't feel this good. But it feels amazing. My arm shakes with the effort of lowering myself slowly enough that I lay her gently back down in the blood, and I watch her hair spread across the surface of the thick red pool. My body stretches the length of hers and there's no chance of savouring the feeling of all of my skin touching hers because I can't restrain the instinctual movement of my hips, and neither can she. She's warm and accommodating and I drink in the gasps of satisfaction she breathes into my mouth as I move inside her, changing pace from slow to quick and back to slow, working up to greater depths. Sweat dots her forehead and mixes with her blood. Deb's hands run over my face and my lower back, holding me inside her. My hand remains on her wound between us, a useless hope, and my other strokes back her hair, cups her cheek. She's beautiful; my perfect other half. As we move together and Brian lies beside us to stroke our skin unobtrusively, I begin to gain confidence and calm. This isn't bad at all. Deb isn't getting worse. She's enjoying me as much as I'm enjoying her, and fuck, I am enjoying her. I feel dizzy with the taste of her, the whole experience of her.

She kisses me without break until I plunge deeper than before in experimentation, and she inhales sharply and tosses her head back into the blood, spine arching to push her hips tighter into mine. I take it she likes it but I'm not certain, so I pause to see. In my moment of hesitation Brian takes her cheek in his hand to turn her to face him, and he kisses her. She doesn't protest or pull away; I don't tell him off for interfering; and when I cautiously resume slowly moving back and forth inside Debra, it's my waist she claws at to pull me in and his mouth she gasps into. I can handle that.

I feel the tension inside me building so I slow things down to give myself more time. Frustrated, Deb locks a leg over my back and tries to encourage me onwards, faster, and Brian moves his mouth down over her jaw and to her throat. It's a darkly thrilling and stomach-churning sight, predatory Brian Moser at good-cop Debra Morgan's throat, only a single deathly gnash away from tearing her open and leaving her to die if he's any kind of monster. I can't decide whether it's hot or sickening. I pull out and away, making up my mind, and feel myself relaxing as he moves his mouth down her chest, tasting the skin of her breast. I settle on my ankles beside them as Brian runs a hand down Deb's stomach and between her legs, and I watch my two siblings in fascination as my sister moans in response to my brother's fingers. His dark hair is damp at the edges with sweat and his shoulder muscles are taut and defined. She arches and writhes; her feet slide in the blood and her hand reaches desperately for me. I swap hands covering her cut and take her hand in my other, feeling that desirable pressure inside me again.

The quickening of Deb's breaths and the increasing volume of her noises let me know that Brian is building her to climax, and though I don't feel jealousy about his hands and mouth being in places mine have never been, I do feel jealousy that it will be him that brings her that sort of pleasure. I pull Deb's hand. She opens her eyes and obligingly sits up, dislodging my brother. I have to leave her wound to bleed; I have to accept that there's nothing in the whole world I can do to prevent her from bleeding and dying, I just have to love and appreciate the Deb she is now for as long as the universe will allow me access to her. I grab her with both hands and lift her away from Brian and onto my lap. She wants me more than she wants him. Her knees go either side of my hips and she falls straight onto me, tipping her head back in gratification when I strike deep inside her. She begins to rock and she feels _incredible_ all around me. I settle my hands on her waist so I can pull her back and forth and help drive the pleasure as I push my hips to meet her.

Brian is a constant in our dive into guilty indulgence, and he kneels behind Deb, hands grasping hungrily at her breasts, mouth sucking at her neck. She enjoys him, even lays a hand over one of his on her chest, but it's me thrusting in and out of her and it's me she looks at when she opens her eyes. It's my dishonourable fingers that slip between my sister and I to touch her, delicately and uncertainly at first, and then with more surety, and it's my hair she twists her fingers in as her breaths become too short and shallow, and it's my name she exhales, not just once, louder each time, and it's my impassioned thrusts that send her flying over the edge of her control, and it's me she goes tight around as she comes.

"Dex!" she cries desperately, followed by an unintelligible vocalisation, and she tips forward, damp and bloody forehead bumping into mine and staying there as she tries to catch her breath. Hands still on her waist, I hold her there, relishing the warmth of her against and around me, savouring the heat of her breaths on my face, loving the brief sparkle of white light I experience through bringing her happiness. Deb's soul is made of something magic, I've always thought, and it brings something magical out of me, too. Joining ourselves like this lets me do good for her and that brings light to us both in this dark, despicable place I've brought her to.

Things mightn't be so hopeless after all.

Brian wraps fingers around Deb's throat and reaches over her shoulder to push me backwards. I should have the strength to fight gravity's insistence but I go down, landing with a splash in the blood behind me. Awkwardly I twist my folded legs out from under me as Brian directs Deb after me, his hand still on her neck. He pushes her onto her hands and knees and leans far forward enough that he pulls her face to mine. I get my elbows under me so I can sit forward to kiss her, but just as my lips are about to touch hers she gasps sharply. Brian pushes deep into her from behind. I tilt my head to the side to see what he's doing, and Deb sinks onto my chest, curling her head under my chin, moaning curse words, caught between pleasure and pain.

Brian is less careful with Deb than I am. He pulls her tight against him on each thrust by her hips, delving deeper and deeper, gaining ever louder sounds from her. Some of her moans break into cries. Darkly fascinated by the way my own darkness treats Debra without concern, without compassion, without care, I lay my hands on her waist, fingers spreading around her narrow sides to her lower back. I feel the way each plunge reverberates through her body, and I see by the way Brian slams into her that he isn't immediately worried about the pain he puts her through.

It's harsh, the truth. Haven't I done this a million times, metaphorically fucked her selfishly over and over without interest in her right to choice or the way it makes her feel, all to serve my own needs and purposes? Isn't this what I did when I brought Hannah to her house and forced her to keep my ill-advised lover hidden from our law enforcement friends? Isn't this what I did when she walked into the church and saw me putting a knife through Travis Marshall? Argentina, La Guerta, the lies, the secrets… I am worse than Brian, so who am I to judge?

My brother brings himself quickly to his endpoint and leans over Deb's back to reach for her head. He catches her bloody, wretched dark hair in his fingers and yanks back, pulling her upright without any reaction to her sound of protest. Tall and bloody and white-skinned and dark-haired and majestic in their physical glory, I watch as my brother fucks my sister above me. He sinks cruel fingernails into her breast as he starts to come, and I feel guiltily aroused as he stabs himself uncomfortably deep inside her to empty himself and moans indecently in response to her pained gasp.

He holds her in place until he's done and slowly relaxes, sitting back on his haunches with her, exhausted and bleeding, on his lap. Finished with her, he pushes her off and forwards; she lands on her knees over me, and collapses into me gratefully. I enclose her in my arms as Brian sighs contentedly and lies back, away from us.

That's the way of my Dark Passenger. It pulls Deb in close, gets what it wants from her, holds her there until it's sufficiently overcome her, shoves her away and withdraws. But the cycle isn't finished, because then the lighter side of me, the conscience that loves Deb dearly, is left to carry the guilt of hurting her, to help put her back together and coax her back into trusting me. So it can all start over again later.

It's sick.

"I don't mind," Deb whispers against my chest, and I hug her tighter. "It's bad but it's worth it for _this_ part."

The good times. The closeness, the openness, the sweetness. They've been few and far between in our relationship, and as the dark times have gotten darker so too have the light times. I feel immensely sorry for Deb in this moment.

"Don't," she murmurs, pushing herself up with her hands to look at me. "Don't feel sorry for me. I locked _myself_ in here with the two of you, Dexter. I stay, every time, every time you break me. I _choose_ to stay, even though I know what will happen. I choose to stay with you because I know you'll put me back together once you're done breaking me into pieces. I know you. You love me. I trust you. So," she adds, leaning forward to place a tiny kiss on the end of my nose, "don't let me down. Show me love."

I understand. I tighten my arms around her and pull her down into a loving and gentle kiss. Her lips are red and swollen from Brian's hard kisses earlier. Her back is slippery with blood both her own and not, and I am careful that my hands skim only lightly over the slashes left by Hannah's knife. _My_ knife. But not my hand.

It's much more intimate now without Brian's involvement, though his presence was certainly more thrilling and sexier. He lies spent a metre or so away, no doubt watching us, but we can't see him from where we are. Deb's long, sticky legs entwine with mine, a mess of limbs running smoothly against each other. Her hand finds mine and her fingers slip into the bloody gaps between my fingers, clasping tightly. She slides our joined hands along the blood-soaked floor of the shipping container to lie clasped above my head. Her other hand is on my chest when I find it and take it, and together we press our palms against the bleed in her abdomen. I don't want her to die; she doesn't want to die either, but she'll happily still die for this chance to be close with me.

We shift our hips until I slip inside her, and we both exhale in satisfied contentment when I sink to a natural depth. We instinctually move against one another, our bodies and minds and hearts all knowing exactly what to do, and we breathe each other in through our unending kiss.

I feel no need to be rough with her, but it's still all kinds of hot. The pressure deep inside me builds as we move to meet the other's pushes and shift to allow each other access and arch into each other's caresses. I move from slow to quick without compromising on gentleness, feeling the flow of blood come unrelentingly quicker from her stomach wound and feeling the _drip_ of blood from her head wound as arteries whip oxygen around her body. Her breaths lose their evenness and even when I back off the pace she doesn't regain her steady breath or pulse. I decide to finish things so she can relax and we can attend to her wounds.

I tip her gently over into the blood so I can be atop her again, and move quicker. She matches me, though she's weaker now, tired. The softer I am with her, the more open and honest and starlit I feel, and the brighter her second climax burns when I get her there. I feel my own release reach its highpoint at the same moment, inspired by the beauty of her ecstasy. We both moan and sigh and make noises we'd never tell anyone about as we go tense against each other's bodies. I feel myself fill her, which should make me feel irrevocably dirty because she's my sister, Harry's daughter, but it's a dream so I only feel what the dream is trying to teach me. Besides, it's fascinating, to think that below mine and Deb's entwined hands over her stomach, the seed of both Moser brothers is warm and virile inside her. If she were meant to survive past this night she might walk out of here carrying a child, and whose would it be? Either way it would be my blood and hers, flesh and bone and blood binding us all together, a family born in blood in a shipping container, where all the best family horrors begin.

Both of us shaking, I reluctantly lift myself off of my sister and lay in the blood beside her. We're disgusting, coated in congealing blood, but we're alive and warm and close and I honestly don't give a fuck about all the rest, about the blood or the dead dismembered bodies I've successfully ignored for the span of that stellar experience or the gaze of my older brother or the promise of self-loathing I'm sure to feel shortly once it hits me that I just came inside my own sister and shared her with my brother.

My breathing starts to slow down and my heart relaxes into a steadier beat. Deb's doesn't. Her lungs won't draw to their full capacity and her pulse continues to race. She curls into my touch when I offer it, allowing me to helplessly stroke her hair out of her eyes and to uselessly press down on her cuts. But it's no use. She's too close to death, too far away from life, and with the last of her strength she weakly grasps my hand.

"Dex," she murmurs, and that's all, but I hear everything she doesn't say. I love you. Thank you. I'm not mad. I trusted you and you didn't let me down. You showed me love. I knew you could. I believe in you.

"Deb," I whisper back, kissing her forehead adoringly, and I know she hears all that _I_ don't say.

She closes her eyes and slips away, and I don't fight it. It's a dream. There will be time to fight her demise when I wake back up at the hospital and learn of the outcome of her surgery.

"You knew she was fucked," Brian comments from where he still lies in the blood. "You know that once you wake up she's going to die. Either here in hospital, or years from now. She's not God; you can't stop it. You can't change it."

I run my fingers through the length of Deb's blood-wet hair. I can't stop her from dying, I can't change the way life works. I can't take back the past where I've allowed my darkness to do so much damage.

"I can't stop her from dying, one day or another," I agree, standing and going to the messy ball of plastic Deb started off wrapped in. Brian sits up to watch me curiously. I sift through the wrappings until I find what I suspected I would. Deb said she locked herself in here. It stands to reason she'd have had the key. I unpick the tape that held the key to the innermost layer of plastic and take it. I go back to Deb's side. "All I can do is make sure she knows before she does that I really would stop it if I could. That I'd stop _all_ of it."

I lift Deb's limp and bloody body from the bloodbath, clutching her to my chest as I straighten. I wouldn't leave her here with my selfish seducer brother and my many dead victims, monsters and innocent bystanders alike. I take her to the door and lower her partially so I can unlock it. I give it two good shoves before it creaks reluctantly open. Shocking white light floods the container; both my brother and I shield our unsuspecting eyes from its harshness. It's the truth, that harshest light in existence. It's honesty and self-sacrifice and it hurts both of us because we're not much accustomed to either. But I'm ready to face it, for the first time.

"Where are you going?" Brian asks, somewhat meekly. I don't even glance back at him. I love him, God knows I love him, and I want him with me like a kid wants cake, but I make my choice a very long time ago in a different kill room.

"Somewhere you aren't," I answer, dragging Deb through the door and leaving her on the earth outside for a moment. She's not cake; she's not even cheeseburgers. She's oxygen, and there isn't a choice to be made here. It's made for me. I stand to push the door shut.

"No. Wait, don't!" Brian calls, and I hear the sounds of sloshing as he jumps to his feet and runs through the blood to reach me, but he's too late. _Too late_. I get the door closed and shove the key into the lock, and I can hear him slamming his hands on the metal inner wall of the container but he's trapped. I turn and fling the key as far as I can into the stark whiteness of outside. I hear a plop. My eyesight slowly adjusts, and I see I am beside the ocean. How fitting.

I don't see anyone else around, which is just as well because I'm naked, coated in blood and at my feet is an equally bloodied and naked dead woman. I'm all alone. I stoop to gather my sister up. My hand, though, as I reach for her, is clean. I turn it over. Clean. As is my arm, and my shoulder, and my… My whole body is clean, and clothed, dressed like I'm off to work. Not one drop of blood remains. The light has burnt it away. I look down again at Deb, scared she might have disappeared with the rest of the evidence of my fucked-up morbid threesome with my siblings in a shipping container of death, but she's still there. Unbloodied. Uncut. Unwounded. Dressed like _she_ might be off to work, in jeans and a loose t-shirt with a tailored jacket.

"Deb," I whisper, kneeling to marvel at the miracle of the light's power. I extend a nervous hand to touch her lips, the way I did when I first touched her, the way I did when I thought Vogel had killed her. I wait.

And I wait.

And I wait.

And still I wait.

And she draws a breath.


End file.
